Tis All A Game: The Sins of the Fathers
by Morninglight
Summary: Sequel of 'What is Sown', prequel to DAO. Alistair Theirin and Jaen Hawke, along with several friends, are thrown into a confrontation with the legacies of Maric and Malcolm. If they don't rise to the challenge, all of Thedas will be threatened by a dark and rising power on the leading edge of a Blight. Massively AU.
1. Zevran

Note: Second extended-drabblesque prequel to the main 'Tis All a Game plotline, roughly following the Silent Grove/Those Who Speak/Until We Sleep storyline with some adjustments (including shenanigans from Legacy and no Qunari). I hope you enjoy!

…

**Zevran**

Archive of the Crows, Antiva City 9:28

"You are raving batshit insane."

Zevran's statement was flat as the royal bastard he'd been sent to assassinate whirled around from the Crow door-guards he'd just smitten and grinned wildly. "What? We know your Master was involved in my father's disappearance. He admitted so himself just before we killed him. With the news from Ferelden, rescuing King Maric the Saviour is the best thing we can do for our poor benighted nation."

"_Your_ poor benighted nation," Zevran pointed out. He should have just stabbed this idiot and friends back in Ferelden instead of getting into a stupid argument over a dead halla being butchered and needing to be saved by Alistair Theirin and company. "I am Antivan."

"And if word gets out that the Antivan Crows were involved in the kidnapping of King Maric, your country is going to be visited by a pissed-off army of Fereldan expatriates, mercenaries and other sundries," Jaen Hawke, apostate healer and mistress of chaos, retorted sweetly. "Starting with us."

Having seen what the Hawke sisters were capable of – not to mention Alistair too-fucking-persuasive Theirin and Daveth the pickpocket – Zevran could barely hide his shudder. Bethany Hawke, she of the most generous bosom and terrifyingly deadly firestorms, had joined them in Kirkwall after some Carta thugs tried to kidnap Jaen and her. Their little group had been transformed from the equivalent of a small army to something on the level of a mobile natural disaster. And since his beloved Isabela decided to tag along for fun and profit-

"I might be able to persuade the Grandmasters to cooperate," he finally conceded. "Better that than break into the Crow Archives and get us _all_ killed."

"Smart choice," rasped a voice from the ledge above as a lithe, dark figure jumped down, bow in hand.

"Didn't we leave you in Kirkwall?" Alistair demanded of Nathaniel Howe, Hound of the King and the coldest-eyed bastard Zevran had ever met.

"Teagan assigned me to be your babysitter, Prince," the archer reminded him. "Since you can't even travel to the privy without causing an incident, my presence is required."

"Look, I'm not _that_ bad," the royal bastard protested. "What happened in Kirkwall was all Jaen's fault!"

"I sort of had something to do with it too," Bethany pointed out softly. She really was a sweet girl, albeit only too happy to fry things if they threatened her sister.

"I'm blaming Jaen because I like to," Alistair told her as the healer pouted. "It's either her or Isabela."

"I'll happily take the blame for anything you want, sweet thing," drawled the Rivaini pirate huskily, making the prince blush. "Did you want to punish me?"

"Ya know, I'm fairly sure this is a pretty fuckin' bad place ta discuss who's done what," Daveth, easily the most sensible in the group aside from Zevran, muttered. "Can we please go somewhere else before the fuckin' Crows come ta investigate?"

The Journeyman – now Master – Crow nodded in ready acquiescence. "We must as well report to the Council," he said unhappily. "Let us hope I can talk fast enough to keep us out of Velabanchel."

…

"I don't get paid enough for this shit."

"We pay you?" one of the masked Grandmasters asked Zevran dryly.

"I speak figuratively, Maestro," he responded humbly. The room in which the Council of Crows was currently meeting was swathed in rich velvet drapes of scarlet and black, the majority of its inhabitants masked to conceal their civilian (mostly noble and even royal) identities. Only Rennio d'Antiva, who had interests in Ferelden, and Prince Claudio Valisti remained bare-faced. Probably because the pair of them were shameless liars and manipulators.

"Oh, stop the grovelling," the same Grandmaster said boredly. "You're a Master and you'll walk away from here. Too much rides on this to allow otherwise."

Daveth snickered as Zevran's ears flattened at the rebuke. The Crows despised weakness in their leaders as much as it did rebelliousness in their foot soldiers. "The Council is most kind," he said, bowing slightly.

"The Council is collectively shitting itself," Rennio d'Antiva corrected sardonically. He leaned back in his high-backed velvet seat, flicking through a book with deceptive idleness. "We pride ourselves on being utterly neutral in all matters mundane and magical. But because of Geraldo being an overly enthusiastic and greedy moron, we have now made enemies of the descendants of Calenhad the Great… and possibly the Witches of the Wilds."

Zevran noted that something twitched in Claudio Valisti's eye. Maybe it was the presence of Isabela, who'd been married to his old friend Luis before she hired the elf to kill the worthless sack of shit. She had that effect on people sometimes.

"In the second year of Maric's captivity in Velabanchel, Yavana, the Beast of the Tellari Swamps, came and took him from us," Rennio continued grimly. "We tracked him to her home. Beyond that, his fate is unknown to us."

Alistair's lips pursed. "Thanks. That's… more than I expected."

The Prince of Crows raised his eyebrow at the half-elven bastard. "You are taking our word for it? How do you know this isn't some elaborate plot to kill you?"

"Because we'd be dead already," the golden-eyed prince answered calmly. "Crows like to get the job done quickly."

"Indeed," Rennio conceded. "We shall provide you with aid. Arainai, you're joining him in this quest. We want the world to know that the Crows are deeply ashamed that one of our number stooped so low."

"You want the man behind Geraldo, you mean," Howe rasped.

"Mutual enemies. How he is disposed of is none of our business, only that he is removed," Claudio Valisti said dryly. "Besides, your little party is capable of demolishing a fair amount of Antiva City. We'd like you out of here pronto."

"We'll gladly oblige you then," Alistair promised as he moved around, shaking each of the startled Grandmasters' hands. "Umm… don't suppose you know of a cheap merchant who can resupply us with a few things?"

Rennio laughed richly. "Tell us what you need and I promise the merchants will fall over themselves to provide it!"

…

"That went _way_ too smoothly."

Jaen Hawke folded her arms across a bosom almost as lovely as her sister's, regarding Zevran with justified wariness as the Siren's Call sailed out of Rialto Bay.

"Of course it did," he admitted. "There is more than one traitor within the Crows and the Council hopes we will flush him or her out."

"Bet it's Claudio!" Isabela yelled from the crow's nest.

"I bet it's d'Antiva!" Zevran retorted. "He's got interests – his in-laws would become the rulers of Ferelden if Maric's bloodline died!"

"It doesn't matter who did it," Alistair grated from the prow. "Only that we find a way to bring my father home, one way or the other."

Zevran studied the young man's broad shoulders with absent admiration. Like most bastards, Alistair laboured under the desire to prove himself worthy of his father's name. The predictability of it would almost be pitiful weren't the former templar ridiculously charismatic. He made it seem possible that they could confront the Beast of the Tellari Swamps and walk away with a King.

"You are insane. And I am insane for joining you," the elf muttered at the prince's back before turning to head below deck. He _hated_ boats.

…

"I almost feel like I'm at home, bitin' insects an' all," Daveth drawled as they slogged through the swamp. From the little Zevran knew on him, the thief hailed from the Korcari Wilds, the literal Maker-forsaken end of the world. He was darkly handsome, albeit scruffy, and reminded the newly minted Master Crow of his old friend Taliesen…

"You are from the swamps then?" he asked, wanting to know a bit more about the most enigmatic of the party aside from Nathaniel Howe, who really wasn't that mysterious as soon as you realised he was a stone-cold killer with daddy issues.

"Nah, I'm really the long-lost son of the Queen of Antiva, come to reclaim my birthright," the pickpocket retorted. "Of course I'm from the fuckin' swamps."

Zev wiggled his eyebrows at the half-Chasind man. "Has anyone told you that sarcasm becomes you, Your Highness?"

To his credit, Daveth didn't flinch at the flirtation despite his tougher-than-thou attitude. Some low-class thugs took exception to a good-looking male elf flirting with them, probably because they got very, very aroused. It was a potent weapon in the assassin's arsenal.

"I'm flattered, Zev, but I prefer females an' humans," was the serious, remarkably polite answer. "Kinda like Hawke."

The assassin sighed and pouted in (mostly) mock-sorrow. "Oh, if you want to limit yourselves, I'll respect that."

Bethany tied her long dark hair back, distracting Zevran with the frontage displayed by her low-cut robes. "Mistress Bethany, would you like to discover the delights of an Antivan massage?"

"Back off from my sister, Zev," Jaen warned from the head of the group.

The bosomy apostate gave her big sister a bemused look. "What's so bad about an Antivan massage, Jaen? My legs are killing me."

"Yeah, Jaen, Zev's really good at the Antivan massages," Isabela confirmed with a sultry stretch that was ruined by the moue of distaste she made at the smell of swamp.

"It's Zevran. You'll wind up on your back with him between your legs," the apostate healer told the younger Hawke bluntly.

"What, like you did with Isabela?" Bethany retorted sweetly.

"Point to Bethany," Alistair observed with a chuckle as Jaen spluttered.

Zev turned towards the front of the group with a happy grin. This quest was insane, but at least his company was moderately amusing and _very_ attractive.

…

"_Maldicion!"_

"No, not a maleficent creature, for what it is worth," crooned the scantily-clad Witch as she soothed the High Dragon which nearly ate them all. "Many things, most beyond your reckoning, but not a demon."

Alsitair squared his shoulders and looked at the daughter of Flemeth who called herself Yavana. "Thanks for dealing with him, my Lady. I'd hate to wind up in that thing's gullet."

"_She_, not he, and you alone of this group – and perhaps the skin-walker if he mastered himself – would have been safe from the dragon," Yavana observed before murmuring to the dragon in a language that sounded scratchy and primal. The beast roared and took off, flying deeper into the swamp.

"Let me guess. That's why your mother sent my father to you." Zevran had to give the ex-templar kudos for remaining calm under the circumstances. Most of his ilk would have been swinging a sword and smiting by now – and probably getting everyone else killed.

"An intelligent Theirin? What a novelty," Yavana answered amusedly.

"And you're about to tell me he's no longer here," the bastard muttered.

"Regretfully, yes. There was a task he was to complete for my mother here, and he did not do so."

"Let me guess: it involves the dragons." Alistair's voice broke a touch, reminding Zevran that he was just a lad for all his muscular beauty.

"Indeed. Come, let us talk privately…" Yavana had led them to a clearing dominated by a Tevinter ruin and a dragon roosting on its roof. The Witch of the Wilds continued towards the columned portico, leaving everyone else behind. Alistair waited for her to reach the doors before turning around to Jaen and Bethany.

"If I'm not back by sunset, torch this place," he commanded softly. "Something very dark is going on here."

Zev shivered as the mages nodded. Alistair was so noble sometimes it hurt, but he was also very intuitive. For him to make that order… The elf shivered again. Why couldn't he have accepted some nice fat merchant's contract and been sunning himself back home in Antiva City?

Alistair nodded in satisfaction and entered the ruin. He emerged as the sky was turning amber and scarlet, a sombre-looking Yavana in tow. "If you did this, I could help you find your father," she told him.

"The task was my father's, Yavana. I'll not be held by his debts." Alistair nodded courteously to the Witch of the Wilds.

"I cannot fault you but I do not need my mother's oracular abilities to know that your search will be more difficult without my aid."

"I'll take that chance. I just think we could do with a few less dragons on the rampage, however necessary they might be to the world's existence."

"As you wish." Yavana nodded. "Fare thee well, Prince. And I do mean that."

"You too, Witch. You too." Alistair turned to the others. "Let's go."

Despite the questions of the others, the bastard refused to answer anything as they returned along the path they'd taken. There were no sounds, not of bugs or birds or _anything_, and a faint glow outlined the game trail they were taking – as if the Witch appreciated the templar's courtesy and was providing them an exit.

Zevran had just worked up the courage to ask something along those lines when an arrow suddenly sprouted in Isabela's shoulder. The pirate fell with a cry as masked, shadowed figures emerged from the darkness, led by an all-too-familiar face.

"Hello, Zevran," Taliesen observed cheerfully. "My Master wants a talk with you."


	2. Hawke

Note: Thanks for reading. This story is slightly out of chronological order and will gloss over a lot of details most fans should already know. :)

…

**Hawke**

Kirkwall, 9:28

"Jaen!"

Bethany was a bit taller and a lot more curvaceous than she recalled but still every bit as sweet-natured and loving. Hawke accepted her sister's fierce hug, throwing a smile at her mother and the grey-haired man who had to be Uncle Gamlen. "Hello," she said. "I came as soon as I heard."

By 'heard', she meant 'attacked by the same Carta thugs who went after Bethany'. They'd barely been in Kirkwall a day when crazed dwarves demanding 'the blood of the Hawke' and babbling about some Master had ambushed them in Lowtown.

"That was quick," Uncle Gamlen, whose shabby appearance both confirmed and belied his reputation as the louse who'd gambled away the Amell fortune and estate yet had many contacts in Kirkwall's seedy underbelly, observed dryly.

"I was in town passing through," she admitted easily. "Where's Carver?"

Leandra sighed, looking at the dirty floor of Uncle Gamlen's hovel. "He's gone and joined the Grey Wardens."

"I'm not surprised, really." Jaen knew that his resentment of 'her shadow' had something to do with it. "It's about the one thing Father or I haven't done."

An awkward silence filled the room as Leandra and Gamlen looked at each other. "You might as well tell her," the younger Amell said harshly.

"Tell me what?"

"…Your father had connections to the Wardens; it's… how we left Kirkwall, because he did something for them. He never said what." Leandra's hands twisted in her brown homespun skirt. "He wasn't a Warden himself; they don't have any children, let alone three. But…"

Jaen went very still, blue eyes boring into her mother's pale grey ones. "Did his disappearance have anything to do with it?"

Leandra's face crumpled. "I don't know!"

The healer turned away for a moment, cursing softly. Mysteries upon mysteries…

Someone hammered on the door; with well-trained precision, Bethany ran into the other room and drove under a pile of rubbish. Gamlen went to answer the door, picking up his wallop mallet on the way.

It was Alistair and Daveth, their expressions grim. "Templars are coming this way," the bastard prince said flatly. "We need to get down to the docks because they're looking for Hawke."

Jaen took a deep breath and called into the other room, "Little sister, are you still able to conjure big-arse fireballs?"

"…Yes."

The elder Hawke looked at her mother, whose face was white as snow, no mean feat for someone with Antivan-olive skin. "If you want Bethany to be free of the Circle, she needs to come with me _now. _I may not return for months, Mother."

Leandra nodded, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. "It would be… best."

Alistair scratched his chin thoughtfully, the little scruffy goatee on it sparse but she wasn't going to say anything. "I know how to bullshit templars. If we're caught, Daveth and I are plainclothes templars escorting Fereldan mages home from a conference in Starkhaven."

Bethany poked her head out of the room, staff in hand. "Hello you two," she said, hope warring with fear in her voice. While her little sister didn't know the renegade templar or the thief too well from Lothering, she knew they could be trusted.

"I'll send you cash," Jaen promised as she hugged her mother and surprised uncle for what could be the last time. "Maker with you both."

Leandra collapsed to the floor, wailing, as Gamlen nodded curtly. "Maker with you."

It was a hell of a way to leave her family after not seeing them for a couple years, but it would have to do if they were to keep Bethany free. They left Uncle Gamlen's home quickly, taking to the smoky streets of late afternoon Lowtown. Jaen tried to conceal her gut-wrenching fear as the sound of metallic footsteps reached their ears.

The templars came up, led by some curly-haired blond git who needed a good shave. Toffee-brown eyes widened on seeing the golden-eyed Alistair at the front of the group, and he held up a gauntleted hand to stop them.

"Cullen," the bastard greeted curtly. "What do you want?"

"We're looking for a known apostate," the Knight-Captain responded, frowning slightly. "Goes by the name Hawke."

Jaen held her breath as one of her oldest friends laughed. "I've already done your job. Her elder sister's an Enchanter from Ferelden and we've come here to fetch the girl," he said dryly. "She felt that Kinloch Hold might be more conducive to Bethany's talents than the Gallows."

Cullen frowned harder. "I wasn't informed of this-"

Alistair smirked sardonically. "I don't want to be offensive, Cullen, but Meredith's getting old. I saw the blue in her eyes already yesterday when I was at the Gallows."

The Knight-Captain folded his arms. "That's as may be, Alistair, but I should have been informed-"

"You were out on the Wounded Coast yesterday chasing those apostates from Starkhaven," the bastard pointed out. "I couldn't exactly send you a message."

"I… suppose not." But Cullen's jaw set mulishly. "She should be sent to the Gallows-"

"Enchanter Hawke is the second-best Spirit Healer in Ferelden behind Wynne. She passed her Harrowing in three hours. The royal family has called upon her to tend their wounds." Alistair ticked off points on his fingers calmly. "Her loyalty is beyond question. If she wants her sister in the Fereldan Circle for the girl's own good, especially since the Gallows has shocking rates for Harrowing failures… _Well._ I'm not chancing my ration back home to appease Meredith here."

"Only reason she ain't a Senior 'Chanter is 'cause we're waitin' fer one ta die," Daveth added insouciantly. "Ya know, keepin' the numbers even an' all."

"Good point." Cullen scratched his own chin thoughtfully. "If you come back to the Gallows, we can sort out the paperwork. You're probably due for a ration anyway-"

"You've got a lot of drooling idiots in the Gallows, and some of them don't even have the brand," Alistair interrupted dryly. "You should check your suppliers or cut rations, Knight-Captain."

"B'sides, we got a boat ta catch," Daveth added. "Sundown."

Cullen swore under his breath. "If you had the imagination the Maker gave a gnat, I'd think you were bullshitting me, Alistair. But you don't." He scrubbed a hand through his short curly hair. "Clear out. If Meredith catches wind-"

"I left the paperwork with that Thrask," Alistair interrupted wearily. "I still have enough wit to make sure my ducks are in order."

"And Thrask wouldn't say hello to me if I was on fire," Cullen muttered. "Fine, I'll head back and make sure everything's in order."

"Thanks, Cullen." Alistair gripped the other templar's hand in a friendly manner. "You should have a talk to Grand Cleric Elthina about Meredith. The woman's getting on a bit, I can tell."

"She must be getting erratic if _you're_ noticing it," Cullen observed wryly.

"Oh, the woman's a few bats short of a belfry," Alistair agreed with a shrug. "Greagoir would kick the arse of any templar who overdosed on her ration to the extent she seems to have."

"They _are_ more generous with lyrium here," Cullen admitted as he stepped back into the mass of templars. "I keep to Greagoir's limits though."

"They always called you the smartest initiate at the monastery. I'd love to catch up, but the tide's going and I want to get the Hawkes home," Alistair farewelled. "Maker with you, Cullen."

"And you, Alistair." The templars turned around and headed back to Hightown, leaving Jaen and Bethany staring at Alistair in shock.

"Let's go," he ordered sharply, and the apostates obeyed.

…

Later on, ensconced on Isabela's ship, he called them together.

"One of Bann Teagan's people contacted me earlier to inform me of the templars looking for Mistress Bethany," he said calmly. "I had to improvise working on what I remembered of templar gossip."

"_I_ was impressed," Bethany told him, eyes shining with awe and the beginnings of a crush.

"Cullen's ambitious and a stickler for protocol, though he'll cut mages some slack if they toe the line," Alistair continued, smiling at the girl. "Meredith's getting on in templar years, which is why he's in Kirkwall instead of Kinloch Hold, where Greagoir keeps a tighter grip on the lyrium and so will probably die of old age before becoming a drooling idiot. Thrask's bent the rules more than once, and I gather that Teagan's man has something on him, so he'll accept any sort of paperwork that looks official and will tell Cullen it's all good."

The templar leaned against Isabela's conference table, regarding Bethany steadily. "Jaen tells me you specialise in Elemental magic, correct?"

"Ye-es," she admitted, now looking uncertain.

"Good. Jaen's a decent healer, but I need a good battlemage. I have business in Antiva that needs sorting." He sighed, looking out of a porthole. "However, I don't want to have Carta dogging us every step of the way. We need to find out what the hell's going on there."

"Give me a day and twenty sovereigns," Isabela suddenly said. "I know a dwarf who knows everybody."

"Varric Tethras?" Zevran asked musingly. "Good idea. Easier to rely on than Teagan's man, as he has no other agendas beyond a good tale."

Jaen sighed and counted out the coins. She was curious about this business involving the blood of the Hawke, because if it involved dwarves, it probably involved the Deep Roads, which by extent tied in with her mother's comments about her father's work with the Wardens. She needed to know what her father was involved in.

…

Carver met them at the entrance of the desolate fortress in the Vinmark Mountains, accompanied by a grim-faced Orlesian named Riordan and a red-haired mage named Janeka. "Not surprised to see you're here," he observed with less surliness than she recalled. It was hard to believe he was only fourteen, he and Beth had matured so rapidly in her absence.

"You're a Theirin," Riordan noted, looking at Alistair. "Judging by your age, you must be Fiona's boy."

The bastard blinked. "Fiona's boy? My mother was a servant in Redcliffe Castle who died having me."

Riordan's gaze was surprised. "You… don't know?"

"Don't know what?" Alistair's golden eyes narrowed.

"Yes, you're Fiona's boy alright," the Orlesian said dryly. He then shrugged. "I'm old, what's the worst Duncan could do to me? Your mother was a Warden-Mage named Fiona who accompanied Maric, Duncan and a few others to the Deep Roads. You were conceived during that trip."

The half-elf shuddered as Carver scowled, the attention taken off him and his troubles. "No wonder he kept an eye on me. I thought he was looking at me as a recruit or something." He shook his head. "This is Hawke's situation, not mine. Let's focus on that."

It was that selfless decency, the willingness to put others ahead of himself, that had Jaen and even Daveth (though the Veil would split before the half-Chasind admitted it) following him to Antiva and beyond_. Ferelden had missed out on a good ruler with him being illegitimate,_ she thought wryly.

Isabela and Zevran remained on the pirate's ship, this mess being none of their problem, though Jaen appreciated the concerned look the Rivaini had tossed her way. They'd fallen into bed together during Hawke's first night on the ship, the dusky beauty delighted to discover that the healer was a virgin… and willing to rectify that situation. Lips and teeth and fingers and tongue… Izzie was right. Women were good for five things more than men. Jaen pitied those poor girls who found only males attractive.

She dragged her memory away from last night and focused on the fortress before her. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained," she said lightly, stepping past the three Wardens into a path that might bring some answers for them all.

…

Jaen vomited over the side of the rail, Isabela patting her back comfortingly. She'd come away from the Vinmark fortress with more questions than answers, an arm scarred from shoulder to wrist by darkspawn fire, and the knowledge that her father was both more and less than she'd ever known him to be.

"I wish my mother had loved me that much," the pirate finally said as Jaen wiped her mouth. "She sold me to Luis when I was just a bit older than your sister."

"Maker…" Jaen shuddered. Corypheus. A Magister who'd broken into the Golden City and claimed it was already black when he got there. An intelligent darkspawn. _Escaped._ All because she'd trusted Janeka's advice and opened the seal her father had tightened. "My father. A maleficar."

"Did he ever use it around you?" Isabela asked.

"Well, no-"

"And he was forced to by that bastard Larius from the sounds of it." Isabela sighed and brushed long black hair away from Jaen's sweaty forehead. "At least the Wardens didn't conscript you."

"Only because Riordan was out cold and Carver said he wouldn't put neither Bethany nor I through the Joining," she said grimly. "But we can't breathe a word about it, 'Bela, or… well…"

"Riordan's old for a Warden. I've known him for a bit, though I was more interested in Duncan," she assured the apostate. "And your brother will keep his mouth shut. You'll be fine."

Jaen accepted the offered unspoken comfort. Trying to hold Isabela down was like trying to grasp the sea; it couldn't be done. But if you flowed with the sea, it would buoy you up and carry you to wherever you needed to go – or dash you on the rocks in a sudden storm. It was like magic, to a certain extent.

"Is there anyone on the coast of the Waking Sea you haven't fucked?" she asked instead, half-curious and a quarter-jealous.

Isabela's lips curved wryly. "Duncan. The man told me I should have one unattainable goal, so I'd always have something to strive for."

"Carver spoke well of him. Even Alistair said he's a good man." Jaen sighed, thinking of her best friend. "He's handling the fact his mother's a Grey Warden fairly well."

"I get the impression your friend is used to dealing with situations he can't change by ignoring or joking about them," Isabela answered. "At the moment, he's not thinking about it."

"I wish I had that luxury." Jaen looked up at the full fat moon hanging low over the horizon. "Blood magic is so easy. Cut yourself, feel the power in the blood…"

"I've never met an attractive magister," her - lover, friend with benefits, whatever – chuckled huskily. "Have you _seen_ what they wear in the Tevinter Imperium?"

"Bad?" Jaen asked, grateful for the diversion.

"Worse than Orlesians."

Hawke shuddered. "That's… bad."

"Apparently becoming a blood mage kills your sense of style," Isabela observed. She plucked the sleeve of Jaen's red brocade robe. "So never become one. I couldn't be seen dead with you."

Jaen nodded obediently. "Aye, aye, Captain," she whispered, drawing the pirate closer for a kiss.


	3. Nathaniel Howe

Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Monkeying around a bit with the revelations from _The Silent Grove_ and after, mostly because the qunari aren't involved and because I'm throwing in the earth-binding stuff. I'm also going to assume that since Highever had crossed spears but the Couslands had the laurel crown, the Howes have their own heraldry in addition to the Bear of Amaranthine.

…

**Nathaniel Howe**

The Tellari Swamps, 9:28

Nathaniel Howe swore softly as Crows armed with the ornate Antivan bows and precision-engineered crossbows of Kal Sharok emerged from the trees surrounding them, Isabela hissing with pain practically at his feet. Only the look of shock on Zevran's face kept the elf alive as a dark, unshaven human addressed him by name and claimed that his Master wanted to see him.

Alistair squared his ridiculously broad shoulders and stared the Antivan down. "Who is he?"

The Crow smirked at the bastard. "Welcome to Antiva, Your Highness," he responded mockingly. "You saved us a lot of trouble to bring you here."

"Answer him, Taliesen! Who is he?" Zevran's voice was raw with fear and worry. "Your Master is a traitor to the Crows!"

Ignoring the melodrama, Nate turned slowly, taking in the position of every Crow in the clearing. It was his job to keep Alistair Theirin alive and everyone but himself and the bastard was expendable. Unfortunately, most of the people who accompanied them weren't the self-sacrificing type.

Zevran's friend walked over to the elf, offering a hand. "My Master doesn't hold a grudge against you and your friends killing Geraldo. In fact, he's glad you saved him the job of cleaning up. I need you watching my back, Zev. We have the chance to destroy the bastards who killed Rinna and take over the Crows-"

At the mention of 'Rinna', Zevran's fist drew back and then collided with Taliesen's face, sending the assassin reeling back spitting blood and teeth. "Don't use Rinna as a weapon against me, you bastardo!"

Something dark and murderous crossed Taliesen's face as he recovered from the blow. "You're wearing a Master's ring, Zev. Decided to sell the remnants of integrity the Crows left us to perpetuate the cycle, huh? Those bastards killed Rinna… to show us how little we are worth to them."

"Geraldo has answered for Rinna," Zevran responded grimly. "I slit his throat myself."

Taliesen spat out blood with a grimace. "The Grandmasters are all fucking nobles and rich bastards. They take us as children and teach us to know nothing but sex and murder-"

Zevran nodded sorrowfully. Astonishingly, the other Crows weren't intervening, instead holding their positions. Nate swore again as he realised that there was no getting out of this one without losing people.

"Yes," the elf agreed. "But it was you who slit Rinna's throat and I… who stood there and laughed, believing her a traitor. But you are asking me to betray a life-debt, Taliesen. Alistair Theirin saved my life… so I cannot betray him."

The bastard prince in question was getting that mulish look Nate already knew portended something incredibly stupid and noble. "You don't need to feel indebted to me, Zevran. I completely understand if you do… what you have to do."

"Are you fucking insane?" Nate grated as Zevran threw the ex-templar a startled glance.

"Probably," the Theirin said with a wry grin. "But I'm not big on 'debts'. I want people to be my allies because they _want_ to be, not because they _have_ to be."

Maric was much the same. Even Cailan, to a certain extent, wanted to be _liked_ rather than served out of obligation. But there was a time and a place for such attitudes – and now was not it!

"You really are too stupid to live," Zevran observed to the bastard as he drew his daggers.

"Probably," Alistair agreed. "The Revered Mother always said so."

Taliesen was shaking his head as the Hawke sisters called fire and Daveth reached for his Chasind hand-axe. "Kill everyone but Zev and the Theirin," he ordered of the Crows. "I will gut anyone who harms a hair on either of their heads."

_"Stop."_

Alistair's voice was hard and commanding, containing the right amount of steel to make the archers instinctively obey. "I'll go with you, Taliesen, if you spare my friends."

"Like fuck you will!" Nate exploded. Howes were many things – liars, cheats, murderers – but they were those things to protect the Theirins and by extension Ferelden. If he allowed Alistair to go to an unknown fate-

"They outnumber us, Howe. I won't let any of my friends die needlessly when the outcome will be the same," Alistair told the archer reasonably. "One man's life is not worth a kingdom."

The ex-templar stepped forward as everyone else gaped, crossing his wrists before him to be tied. Taliesen glared at Zevran but produced a pair of runed silver cuffs, binding the bastard as Nate went to move – only to wind up with an arrow in the thigh.

"You stupid fucking sack of shit!" he cursed, unable to determine whether it was the overly stupid noble bastard Teagan had assigned him to watch over or the Crow who'd put them in this situation he insulted.

"One way or the other, I guess I'll see my father soon," Alistair observed as Taliesen made a gesture, ordering the archers to stand down. "Tell Bann Teagan I'm sorry."

Crippled with pain, Nate watched the noble fool get dragged away, wondering just how he'd managed to fail Ferelden so badly.

…

"Tevinter. Go fuckin' figure."

Nate, his thigh still throbbing from the wound despite Jaen healing it, crouched behind Daveth as they watched Alistair be delivered to a robed mage and several masked soldiers by Taliesen. He'd fancied himself adept at survival and tracking, but the half-Chasind had unerringly led the group in chase of the prince and his captors. Daveth might be a mediocre thief, but his cold-tracking skills bordered on miraculous.

"There's stories about kings an' their blood," the thief continued softly. "Mebbe there's somethin' ta them an' the magisters want that."

"There… is truth to that," Nate conceded, knowing that there was no way that they could rescue the prince in time. "And if that is the reason they want him-" He shuddered, remembering the old tales of the king being the life of the land. "Maker help Ferelden."

"They'll keep him healthy then," Zevran murmured, having chosen to remain with them instead of join an old friend. "And we have similar stories in Antiva, Daveth."

Nate knew that the smart thing would be to rise to his feet and plant an arrow in Alistair's back for the good of Ferelden, to stop that precious Theirin blood from falling into the hands of the Tevinter magisters… but he couldn't. The core of what made him a Howe _couldn't._ And he had no damned idea why.

Alistair was loaded onto a small scout-ship, Taliesen remaining behind on the beach. Nate watched Ferelden's only heir sail into the sunset, damning himself for failing yet again, for not being hard enough. His father was right, he was too weak-

"So, we know they're off to Tevinter and that for now Alistair is safe," Zevran observed as he rose to his feet, drawing his daggers. "Now there is no reason to hold back against Taliesen and his friends."

"You're betraying your friends very easily, Crow," Nate noted as he unlimbered his bow.

"Alistair is the first person to respect what I want. That is worth killing for." The elf smiled grimly as Taliesen turned around, hearing the rustling of the bushes. "Leave Taliesen alive, but kill the rest."

Propelled by anger and grief, the group obeyed; Nate returned Taliesen's favour by shooting _him_ in the leg. He already knew that torture wouldn't work on a Crow, but anything they could get out of him would be useful-

Well, it would have been if the Crow hadn't driven a poisoned dagger into his side before anyone could strip him of weapons.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck-" Nate began, only to be cut off by a cool chuckle.

"Perhaps I may be of service, if it pleases you?"

Yavana, the Witch of the Wilds, had returned.

…

"Taliesen, Journeyman of the Crows. You will reveal the name of your Master… and _his_ Master."

Nate, used to dealing and seeing horrific things, shuddered in fear as Yavana calmly slit her wrist and called forth the dead Crow's spirit; Zevran had taken up praying while the Hawke sisters looked ill. Only Daveth and Isabela looked remarkably calm about necromancy being performed in front of them.

"I serve… Claudio Valisti… He serves Aurelius… Titus…" the corpse-bound soul moaned, voice wracked with torment.

"Where is Aurelius Titus?" Yavana demanded.

"Seheron," the ghost whispered.

"Why does he want the Theirin heir?"

"Cor-" Taliesen's corpse burst into evil violet fire, forcing the Witch to fall back with a cry of fear. It was reduced to ash within heartbeats, leaving a small circle of blackened, diseased-looking earth.

_"Taint,"_ Bethany breathed, scorching it to the bedrock as Yavana panted, pale and sweating, regathered herself.

"More questions than answers," she observed grimly.

Jaen's eyes narrowed. "I wonder if he was about to say Corypheus?" she mused aloud.

Yavana's response to that name was… dramatic. _"How do you know that name?"_ she yelled at Hawke.

"He's the darkspawn my father became a maleficar to bind," Hawke responded, lips pressed tight. "I was tricked into unbinding him – then he escaped."

Yavana took a shaky breath as Nate watched her, trying to read what was going on in her head. "You fool. You thrice-damned fool. You have unleashed a horror unlike anything the world has ever-"

"Yes, yes, he's one of the original magisters who broke into the Maker's city, etcetera, etcetera," Zevran interrupted tersely. "Now you tell us why Alistair's blood is so important."

The Witch sank to her knees, all composure lost. "The blood of the King is the life of the land, the life of the land is the dragon, the dragon is the blood of the King," she answered hoarsely. "King Calenhad was once a dogboy, but a clever one who knew how to trade secrets and made friends until he managed to catch the attention of a Witch of the Wilds. She took him to the side of a dying high dragon and bade him drink its last heartbeats; he became the first reaver, strengthened by blood and rage, and conquered Ferelden."

Nate leaned forward, expression intent. "And Aldenon bound his blood to the land… and bound the ancient families of Ferelden to Calenhad and by extension the land." As startled glances were sent his way, the archer smiled flatly. "Aldenon bound each of us to a virtue: the Couslands are just, the Howes are cunning and the Guerrins are steadfast."

"Indeed," Yavana confirmed, the fear in her eyes easing a little. "The Theirin bloodline carries a lot of power, and if Corypheus gains that strength-"

Bethany's expression was sick. The sweet girl had been dragged into this because she wanted to be free; Nate briefly wished he could send her home. "Could Father's disappearance have been the first step in freeing Corypheus? He worked often with the Wardens and Janeka showed that Wardens could be manipulated by him…"

Isabela squeezed Jaen's hand as the elder Hawke nodded, face stricken. "It makes a hideous amount of sense," she agreed. "We… We have to stop this."

"Where does this Aurelius Titus fit into all of this?" Zevran asked shrewdly.

"Ally? Acolyte? I do not know," Yavana admitted wearily. "But you have a lead. I… can give you no more aid."

"What did ya want from Maric?" Daveth asked bluntly.

"The dragon's blood to awaken the last of the High Dragons. If the dragons die, the world dies…" Yavana rubbed her pale face and sighed. "The Witches of the Wilds are many things. But it is my duty to protect the wild places, the things that men do not understand and would destroy through heedlessness. My mother's other daughters have other tasks."

"What's Morrigan's?" the thief asked, dark eyes narrowed as he stared at the Witch.

"Her task is to be the vessel of the-" Yavana's face contorted as she struggled against some unknown compulsion. Nate made a gesture against evil, watching the Witch and the thief engage in some unseen battle. "She's-"

Blood trickled from Daveth's nose before he cried out and slumped forward, panting harshly. "She's… tellin' the truth," he finally said. "But… Flemeth's somehow shielded her."

Yavana crawled away from the thief in fear. "Skin-walker!" she accused.

"Fuckin' oath I am," Daveth agreed, wiping at his nose. "Dunno how I can 'walk ya Witches, but I can."

He rose unsteadily to his feet and smiled down at Yavana. "Thanks fer yer help, milady."

"I should kill-" she began, only to flinch as one of Nate's arrows whizzed just by her head.

"We will walk away from this swamp and you will not follow us," he rasped softly. "It was because of you we lost our King, Yavana. The Prince chose to spare your life and we'll respect that. But don't push your luck."

"May you always walk in darkness!" Yavana retorted, wisely remaining where she was as the others got up, preparing to leave for Isabela's ship.

Nate laughed grimly, bowing mockingly to the Witch. "I am a Howe. It is my natural habitat. Thank you for the blessing, daughter of Flemeth."

With that he walked away.

…

"_Why is our sigil an owl when Amaranthine's is a bear?"_

_ Rendon Howe tucked Nathaniel into bed, smiling as gently to the boy as his long, hook-nosed face could manage. "We are the sgian-dubh, the boot-knife, of Ferelden. Owls are clever, silent and strike at night, just like we do."_

_ "Why?"_

_ "Elias Howe was a very cunning man, if a bit on the dishonourable side. But after Calenhad rose in the west, he realised that there was something worth fighting for, even if his kinsfolk, the current ruling Banns of Amaranthine, wanted to kill the Silver Knight to ingratiate themselves with Simeon, the Teyrn of Denerim." Rendon sighed and adjusted the thick wool blankets. "So he did what was necessary and killed the Bann, his cousin, and opened the gates to Amaranthine for Aldenon and Calenhad."_

_ "But the Chantry says kinslaying is wrong," Nate pointed out sleepily._

_ "True. But sometimes you need to do a wrong for the greater good." Rendon leaned over and adjusted a pillow. "Sleep well, little rogue. Tomorrow I will show you how to dispense justice."_

Nate awoke in a cold sweat as he recalled the last time his father ever told him a story. It was the night before he'd vomited at the brutal execution of a mother who'd drowned her children; he'd been sent to squire in the Free Marches with his maternal relatives because his father was disgusted with his weakness.

He'd never puked again, no matter what horror he faced or wreaked for the greater good of Ferelden. But now he watched another bright sunny Theirin idiot walk to their doom because their damnfool sense of honour meant they could do no less.

"We'll find him, Nate," Bethany, who was on night watch, assured him gently. "Alistair's smarter than he looks."

"I find that hard to believe," Nate rasped to the apostate as he sat up, wrapping a rough cloak about himself. It was hard to recall she was fourteen because of her well-developed figure. In Lothering, if she'd stayed, she'd probably be betrothed – if not married - by now.

"Daveth can track the wind over the sea," Bethany told him. "And Isabela can charm secrets out of the Black Divine himself."

"How can you remain so optimistic?" he demanded. "Your father is somehow involved with this, we're going up against a magister who broke into the Golden fucking City-"

"I could say something about the Maker's will guiding us, but I don't think you're religious," she responded. "But things are falling into place. They always do." She shrugged. "And fretting won't bring my father or King Maric back. So I will hope for the best."

"And what if your hope isn't fulfilled?" he retorted, unnerved by her simple childish faith. Had he ever been that naïve?

"Then I will die knowing that I've done my best," she answered. "The Maker never gives us a burden we're not strong enough to carry, Nate."

Her blue eyes regarded him steadily, even compassionately, and Nate felt ashamed for trying to needle her. "If more mages were like you and Jaen, we wouldn't need the Circles," he said instead.

"Our father taught us that our magic should serve the best in us, not that which was most base," she replied, blushing prettily. "He… believed his magic was a curse, I think. And sometimes it is. Jaen considers it a great gift, probably because she is such a wonderful healer, and I try to think like her."

"My father's a ruthless bastard," Nate admitted easily. "And so am I."

Bethany shook her head. "No, you're not. A ruthless bastard would have shot Alistair in the back and murdered Yavana, just in case. You could have turned Jaen and I into the templars to save yourself the trouble. You're following Alistair into death and danger – and not just because you were ordered to."

"I should be harder. Ferelden needs a strong Howe."

"Hardness isn't always strength, Nate. After all, a penis gets hard, but one punch and you're crumpled on the ground crying like a girl. A vagina's soft but it can take a-"

"Did you get that simile from Isabela?" he demanded, uncomfortable with Hawke's little sister talking so frankly about… well…

Bethany sniffed and crossed her arms. "My mother, actually."

Recalling the prim, uptight Leandra from his observations on the Hawke family, Nate was lost for words. He wondered if his mother had ever shared similar wisdom with Delilah before she died.

"I'm going back to sleep," he said firmly, lying back down. "I don't want your sister to overhear me discussing penises and vaginas with you."

Bethany laughed softly. "Jaen's not _that_ bad-"

"She's a healer. You know why you should never piss off a healer?"

"No. Why?"

"Because the people who know how to fix you know what hurts the most."

Her delighted laughter chased him into sleep, leaving him oddly content despite the seriousness of the situation. Maybe she was right. Maybe everything would be okay.


	4. Isabela

Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Caution, loads of language: I see Isabela as a very frank, freely-spoken individual. In my head-canon, Wardens have a special heraldry for Blights to let everyone know they mean business.

The Qunari kinda snuck in for a bit because of Isabela's backstory.

…

**Isabela**

Minrathous, 9:29

Isabela _hated _Tevinter. It was ten miles up the arsehole of nightmares and way too close to the Qunari for her comfort. She spent a moment idly wondering if her bitch of a mother was living happily working fields or some shit in Seheron before yelling at her crew to bring the ship in neatly. Tevinters might be blood mages, but most of them couldn't sail or fuck for shit.

Jaen joined her at the prow, clad in that ornate black-over-scarlet brocade robe she'd picked up in Antiva. With the contrast between her dark colouring and brilliant blue eyes, the apostate healer caught the attention of anyone who saw her; thankfully, she seemed indifferent to everyone but Isabela. "Father once told me that they collar mages here," she observed softly, grimly. "I wonder how he knew that."

"From everything that's been hinted, your father really got around Thedas, and not in the fun sense," Isabela pointed out. "What do you know about him?"

"He was Fereldan – part-Chasind, I think – and wound up in the Gallows until a sympathetic templar helped him escape. He worked as a mercenary for about ten years, then met Mother and the rest is history." Jaen sighed, looking at the fancy spires of the Imperium's capital sourly. "I wonder if Father's view of his magic as a curse was inspired by his experiences with the Wardens."

"Possibly, though having met Corypheus, I can hardly fault their… ah… choices." Isabela patted the mage's shoulder comfortingly. "Being a Spirit Healer will get you a certain cachet amongst the Magisters. They're about the only mages not discreetly pressured into blood magic."

"Because the spirits we deal with will go absolutely apeshit if we have positive interactions with demons," Jaen told her. "I have one constant presence, a blue-white light, which aids me whenever I heal someone."

"Handy ally." Isabela sighed herself. "Time to dress up. We need to approach a rather sympathetic Magister I know but she won't see us unless we look the part."

…

Magister Maeveris Tilani was tall and willowy for a woman, her bob elegantly curled at the edges and her corset-dress made of exquisite blue silk with paler feathers trimming it. Isabela always felt it was a shame she wasn't a seeress in Rivain; not as fancy as Tevinter, but a lot less deadly.

"Aurelius Titus is meddling with Wardens' business? I didn't expect _that_ from him," she observed in a husky contralto. "And he's picked a bad time to be doing it."

"We've been at sea for the past few months," Jaen admitted. "I'd think any time would be a bad time to be pissing off the Grey."

"Rumour has it a Blight has started, if all the Wardens running around with scarlet griffins on their uniforms means anything," Mae responded grimly.

Jaen and Isabela shared troubled looks. As if an ancient darkspawn with the smarts of a man running around wasn't bad enough, now they had a whole damned horde to deal with. "He's also been meddling with southern politics, something that needs to be dealt with," Jaen added flatly.

They were being a little vague because even though Mae was sympathetic, she really couldn't be trusted. She was one of the few non-blood mages amongst the Senate, mostly because her mastery of the Schools of Arcane, Entropy and Spirit were unmatched. If it became known that Aurelius had not one but two Theirins to hand – well, it could be messy.

Mae's expression grew troubled. "Aurelius doesn't get involved in politics. He buys favours with secrets. I… understand why you're being cautious, my dears; I _am_ a Magister after all. But if he's meddling with Warden magics, that means the taint – and Tevinter knows what happened the last time we meddled in powers beyond our control."

Isabela looked at Jaen and shrugged. "Does the name Corypheus mean anything to you?" the pirate asked.

"Beyond Dreams One through Twenty of the Chant of Light naming the Magisters who broke into the Golden City?"

"We don't have that verse down south," Jaen observed, trying to be flippant when Isabela knew she was at least moderately horrified at having their suspicions confirmed.

"It's a fairly significant chapter of our history. We try not to forget it." Mae's eyes narrowed, looking at Jaen thoughtfully. "What's your lineage, my dear? Those eyes… I've seen them before."

"I'm… a Hawke," she admitted quietly. She didn't want to bring up the Amell side to avoid trouble hitting her family in Kirkwall.

"I knew a Hawke. Came through here several years ago. Warden-Mage, very old and tired, poor man." Mae smiled sympathetically at Jaen's stricken expression. "He's your father, isn't he?"

Jaen nodded slowly and Mae sighed, shaking her golden head. "That isn't it, though. Malcolm was powerful, but of unknown heritage. Your eyes… They're a sign of Dreamer blood. If you can track your family, you'll go far in the Senate."

"With all respect, I really don't want to stay in Tevinter," Jaen confessed. "It's a bit… ah…"

Isabela decided to intervene. "She's a Spirit Healer, Mae. You know what that means."

The Magister nodded grimly. "I understand. She'll do well in Rivain, I assume?"

"That's where we're going when this business with Aurelius Titus is finished," Jaen confirmed. It had been idle discussion between them after sex. Isabela didn't want to settle down, but Jaen was a useful and tolerable person to travel with. It would be safer for her and Bethany to be in Rivain than anywhere else.

"I need details. Aurelius Titus has several people indebted to him, but if he's meddling with what I assume are old and primal magics, even mages like Danarius will stand against him." Mae folded her arms. "I could even wrangle some official support from the Senate if it's bad enough."

Jaen muttered something under her breath. She and Isabela were meeting with Mae alone, mostly because they didn't trust the rest of their little group in Tevinter, especially Zev who had a hidden vengeful streak against those who abused elves. "He's got his hands on someone with old royal blood," she finally said. "And… Corypheus is involved."

"And don't forget the dragons," Isabela added.

Mae blanched in horror. "He's meddling with the Old Gods. It can be the only explanation."

"Oh, as if this couldn't get any better," Jaen muttered. "Is there anything you can do for us, Magister?"

The mage shook her head regretfully. "If I start talking about plots involving the Old Gods, the Senate will thrall and bind me as insane right quick," she told them. "However, I know where the bastard's estate is."

"That's even better," Jaen said, a spark of hope returning to those astonishing eyes. "Thanks for your help, Magister."

Mae squared her somewhat broad shoulders. "Don't thank me. I may disagree with the south's attitude towards magic, but there are things Magisters won't stand for, if only to avoid another Andraste's Crusade. You need to finish this and soon, Hawke."

"No shit," Jaen muttered.

"I'm serious. If Aurelius is working for one of the Magisters who unleashed the darkspawn on us, this Blight will be horrible beyond belief. I don't know about you, but I'd rather avoid the end of the world if I can help it."

"She's got a point," Isabela murmured.

Hawke's eyes hardened. "Got it," she answered simply. "But still… thanks."

"Stop Titus. That will be good enough for me."

…

"You're quite attached to her, aren't you?" Zevran observed much later on the ship.

"Oh, sod off," Isabela told him, not in the mood for relationship bullshit.

"I'm serious."

"And so am I. Try to get into Beth's skirts or Daveth's breeches again and leave me alone."

"Jaen is rather frightening, not to mention the fact our resident surly archer has taken an interest in the girl. And Daveth, regrettably, isn't interested." The elf smiled seductively at her. "Perhaps you'd care for a tumble?"

"We've got slightly more important things happening than your libido," she said crossly. The fate of the world was in their hands and all Zev wanted was sex!

"You're in love-"

"If you finish that sentence, I will stab you," Isabela vowed. She was fond of Hawke, admittedly, but she was uncomfortable sleeping with someone that the mage wouldn't find attractive. It wasn't fair to her. Love had nothing to do with it.

"I knew it," he chuckled. Then he left before she stabbed him on principle for being full of shit.

…

Seheron, 9:29

"Naishe!"

Isabela turned around, having spent half an hour bitching uselessly at the Karasten whose ship had run hers down, to see a dark-skinned, grey-haired human woman in Qunari priestess robes followed by two burly horned qunari. "That's Isabela to you," she retorted.

"Tamassran, this one was caught prowling our seas. She is a Rivaini pirate of some note-"

"And in my life before I made demands of the Qun, she was my daughter," the priestess interrupted. "I know her purpose here. It will only strengthen us in Seheron."

The Karasten blanched, a remarkable feat for a silver-skinned giant. "She is Viddathari?"

"She is looking for her place," the priestess – her mother – answered calmly. "It is my place to speak to her, not yours."

The Karasten nodded respectfully and exited the brig, leaving the pirate alone with the Tamassran and her two goons. "Fuck off!" Isabela snarled. "I don't want anything to do with your fucking Qun."

Tamassran's eyes were sad and accepting. Since she'd converted, Isabela had stopped thinking of the woman who'd sold her to Luis as her mother. "I know. That is why I tried to make the best life I could for you."

"You sold me to a bastard who tried to share me out to his friends against my will!"

The priestess inhaled sharply, shame crossing her features. "Naishe – Isabela – I truly did not know. I could not make a choice between you and the Qun, so I did my best to give you a good life so I didn't have to worry about you."

She sighed, rubbing her nose. "Viddathari passed information to us concerning the actions of the Saarebas Aurelius Titus. He has slain many of our people with spells we cannot counter."

"Speaking of Saarebas, what have you done with Jaen and Bethany?" Isabela demanded, worried beyond anything she'd ever been before for the Hawke sisters. She knew how the Qun treated mages.

"Saarebas are men. They are not men, so therefore they cannot be mages," Tamassran lectured, her tone patient. "There are no bas saarebas amongst your group, so they have been placed in the bottom of your boat with your crew."

"The hold," Isabela corrected automatically.

Tamassran's face registered surprise. "You've found your place, haven't you?" she asked.

"Well, duh," Isabela retorted. "So what the hell are you going to do with us?"

"Your presence here serves the Qun, even if you don't realise it. You will deal with the Magister." Tamassran eyed her sternly. "Your kadan is worried for you, Nai- Isabela. You should tell her about how you feel."

"I'm fucking her," Isabela said crudely, hoping to make the bitch uncomfortable.

"She is the centre of your being. I hope you can understand before it's too late." Tamassran turned to the two silent qunari standing guard. "Release her and escort her to the ship. Her presence here no longer serves the Qun."

"Of course, Tamassran," one said respectfully. He unlocked the cuffs on Isabela before stepping back.

"Are you doing this because I'm your daughter?" Isabela demanded.

"You serve the Qun, even if you don't understand it yet," Tamassran responded. "I would like to see you make your own demands of the Qun one day, but I will be content if you have found your place."

She handed Isabela her daggers before gesturing to the two guards to leave the room. They obeyed and for a moment, the soft dark eyes Isabela recalled from her childhood gleamed with emotion. "You put yourself above others. I am proud of you."

"I'm doing this because it has to be done and I'm sure the loot will be good-"

"Do not deceive yourself, Naishe. This Hawke is dear to you and you are worried about what this Titus will do to your friends. Admit that and you will truly understand your place."

Isabela swallowed thickly as Tamassran embraced her. What the hell was going on? Her mother was insane, being Qunari, right?

"Panahedan, Isabela." And with those words her mother was gone and the Tamassran returned.

…

Elfroot and lavender enveloped Isabela as Jaen embraced her fervently.

"You're safe, thank the Maker," she breathed. "But what happened? You look like you saw a ghost."

"I did," Isabela admitted… and told her the full story of her youth, the first time she'd ever been totally honest with anyone.

When it was done, Jaen sat on their bed – since when was it _their_ bed? – and sighed. "When you said you had connections, you weren't kidding."

It was Hawke's humour that got to her every time. The mage was a shining do-gooder (came with being a Spirit Healer) but she wasn't preachy about it. Most of the time, she was trying to save stupid people from themselves – or in this case, the world.

"Yeah, guess so…" Isabela sighed and sat down beside her. "I'm… sort of at peace. My mother was horrified at what Luis had done to me and… she's a Tamassran. They're sort of important in the Qunari, so she's respected, which was what she always wanted."

The pirate leaned against Hawke a bit. "How have you been dealing with the fact your father was probably a Warden?"

"It would be something he'd do," she admitted with a weary sigh. "I… just wish he'd told us, somehow."

"I think your mother knew," Isabela said shrewdly. "But maybe your father didn't want you to know."

"That… doesn't surprise me," Jaen agreed. "I wonder if Carver knows."

Isabela couldn't say for sure. Carver Hawke was a fairly dim lad, albeit a decent fighter. She only cared for him because he was related to Hawke. "That doesn't matter at the moment. What matters is stopping these insane bastards."

"Becoming a hero, Isabela?" Jaen asked with a smirk.

"I'm not a total bitch," Isabela protested. "Besides, Titus might have good loot."

"'If we kill them, we get their stuff'," Hawke grinned. "Works for me."

The healer touched her. "You're like the sea. You can't be held or confined or even predicted. But that's okay with me. Because on the sea there's a freedom that can't be matched anywhere else."

Isabela blinked back tears. Hawke _understood._ Maybe Tamassran was right. "You're… a storm," she finally admitted. "You come in, blow everything to hell… But it's wild, exhilarating."

"You once told me that being on a ship during a storm was incredible," Hawke murmured, reading between the lines. "Want to make some wild weather?"

Isabela laughed delightedly and pulled the apostate closer. Sometimes things didn't need to be said, only understood. And she understood that here and now was the place she was meant to be.


	5. Daveth

Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. My explanation of Daveth's Ranger specialisation is purely head-canon. Short chapter because I can't quite get into Daveth's head at this point of time.

…

**Daveth**

Seheron, 9:29

Daveth looked south towards the cool mists and swamps of his youth and wondered what possessed him to chase a dead king on the whim of a bastard prince to this godsforsaken island. The colours of this place were too bright, the sun too harsh on even his olive skin, and the animals were alien to one who could walk in their minds. He sighed, knowing he followed Hawke here, and for some reason she'd chosen to follow that idiot Alistair.

Since his adventures in the Tellari Swamps, he'd brooded constantly over the designs of the ancient witch Flemeth, from whom he'd once stolen two pies. The daughter Morrigan, a wild creature bound into the shape of a donkey, had followed him more than once – and he'd always been aware of her. And the witch Yavana dared to call the fate planned for her sister a 'gift'.

Zevran, who for some weird reason had become fanatically devoted to Alistair, joined him at the railing of Isabela's ship. "This ability of yours to control others' minds," the elf begun, only to be cut off with a sharp chop of the hand from the thief.

"I can walk in animals' heads. The Witches, they shapeshift inta animals, so's I can control them a bit," he corrected. "I met two Witches, three if'n we count me stealin' a pie from Flemeth once."

"Still, to control animals would be useful," Zevran mused. "Can it be… taught?"

Daveth shrugged. "Was born doin' it. Da loved it 'cause I could bring animals ta him."

The assassin leaned against the dark-stained railing and eyed him curiously. "You have become taciturn since the swamps, my friend. Perhaps you would care to speak of it?"

"Ya're not me friend, Zevran," Daveth retorted curtly. "I'm here 'cause of Hawke, who's an old friend."

"Ah, yes, she and you come from the same village, where Alistair also spent a part of his youth." Beyond a narrowing of the eyes, Zevran showed no reaction to Daveth's rudeness. "What was it like, growing up in a village?"

"Wouldn't know. Came from a shithole about three days' walk from Lotherin', so I only made the trip on the holidays."

Zevran sighed. "You are a better man than you pretend to be. And much more pragmatic than most of our number. Have I done something to offend you?"

"I've got more important shit on me mind than ya, Zevran. So fuck off an' leave me alone." Daveth drew the knife at his belt and placed it at the startled elf's throat just before he was about to pull the thief into a hold. "Ya're good at huntin' people, Zevran, but I hunted thin's bigger'n nastier than men. I put me own dad inta the bog after he belted me one too many times. So when I tell ya ta fuck off an' leave me alone, I suggest ya do so."

"Serah Daveth?" Bethany asked sweetly, having snuck up him and Zevran. "Hawke and Nate want to speak to you if you're available."

Daveth sheathed his knife and nodded. "Yeah, sure, darlin'." He turned his back on Zevran, deliberately, ignoring the assassin's deadly glare. The Crow Master thought he was dangerous? He had nothing on a son of the Chasind.

…

Hawke and Nate's plan was simple: get Daveth to control a bird and scout as far as he could over Titus' estate. It was a good plan but with one problem… He wasn't sure if he could hold a bird long enough. He'd only ever used his talent within eyesight of a creature. He didn't even know if he could do it or would wind up stuck in the bird or something.

But he had to try. Titus was messing with old shit, maybe even older than Flemeth. And with a Blight happening – if the rumour was right – they couldn't have people fucking with the Old Gods. The thief sighed. Since when did he give a shit about the world?

_Since ya realised there was good folks who need protectin',_ his conscience reminded him mercilessly.

The thief told it to shut up before sitting down and projecting his mind towards a big-arse seagull he saw through a porthole.

Birds were only slightly smarter than Alistair, so it was bloody hard to wrestle the thing over Titus' estate when it wanted to feed off the scraps left by the ship's cook. He didn't get to see much but he did make one astounding discovery – birds could see magic. At least he assumed the dome-thingy over the elaborate Tevinter buildings was magic.

He released the bird with a grunt, slumping forward and shaking with cold. What the fuck-?

"Energy drain," Hawke explained, wrapping a blanket around the thief. "Did you see anythin'?"

"Some kinda domey-thingy," he said through chattering teeth. "Reckon it might be magic."

"Makes sense," Jaen observed comfortingly. "Thanks, Dav. You might have saved us a bit of trouble."

"Better be worth bein' this fuckin' cold. When I wanted ta cool down, I didn't quite mean like this."

Nate, hook-nosed bloke that he was, smirked. He was like Zevran, only less nosy. "Ya treat Miss Beth right or I'll fuckin' skin ya, ya hear?" Daveth warned him.

That smirk slid off his face as Jaen turned to look at him. "My intentions are honourable, Hawke," the archer quickly replied.

"Better him than Zev," Daveth pointed out.

"If you lay a hand on her before Satinalia, I'll help Daveth flay you," Hawke warned the Fereldan agent.

"That's when she was born," the thief added helpfully, finally warming up.

"I… yes," Nate grated.

"See, he's smarter than Zev," Daveth observed cheerfully. "Can we keep him?"

Jaen rolled her eyes before getting to her feet. "Isabela's dropped sea-anchors. We'll be going in tomorrow, so get some rest."

…

_Owls. Owls. Their names rhyme with vowels…_

Daveth sincerely hoped that if some blood mage was listening to his thoughts, he'd get an earful as he crept along what appeared to be something called a 'force shield' (according to Bethany, who not only could fry people's arses but also pop their heads like a grape). He was their best scout, everyone else (bar Nate, who was adequate and scouting the other side) being absolutely shit in the wilderness.

There were far too many shades of green in this place, the colours of the flowers and critters screaming danger. He never thought he'd miss the bog but the hot stickiness of Seheron made him long for the cool mists of the Wilds.

_Sooner we boost that idiot an' his Pa – and Hawke's Da if he's still kickin' – an' get outta here, the better,_ he thought as he spotted Nate about twenty feet away. He could have kicked Alistair being a moron and giving himself up, even if it led the group to here.

He was about to greet Nate with a screech owl's cry when he felt his muscles lock into place. A pair of fine doeskin boots appeared, tooled with sinister runes and knotwork, before _something_ forced his head up to face a bloke who looked more like a used-cart salesman than an evil Magister.

"A skin-walker. How quaint," observed the blood mage. "I might just find a use for you."

…

"What is it about blood mages having fuck-all taste in fashion?"

Daveth had to give Isabela points for showing more balls than he was in this situation, mocking Aurelius Titus as he had their paralysed bodies arranged like cordwood around a device that had an old, long-haired fart in it being bled dry. Judging by the oversized nose and golden streaks in his dreadlocks, it had to be King fucking Maric.

Alistair, looking pale but otherwise hale, was bound into an elaborate arrangement of copper with points that would dig into his skin once tightened. The bastard prince looked rather calm, only his amber-gold eyes blazing with hate for the two beings before them.

"Shouldn't you be out destroying the world or something?" Hawke asked Corypheus sarcastically as the darkspawn emissary approached her, an expression of detached curiosity twisting his ugly mug.

"I followed the directions of Dumat and was wrought into this monstrosity," the monster replied softly. "Dumat is dead and now Urthemiel has awoken, twisted and broken. That must be rectified for the good of the world."

"Since when did a Tevinter Magister become a humanitarian?" Hawke snarked.

"Humanity exists to serve the Old Gods. I only wish to be free of this wretched body." Corypheus sighed. "Your father, Hawke, was powerful but lacked the correct blood. Now _you_ being a Dreamer… I had not intended to be female for eternity, but some small sacrifices must be made for the greater good."

The darkspawn's words sunk in and Hawke began to demonstrate her extensive vocabulary, Isabela throwing in a few suggestions for Corypheus and his pet Magister to perform in bed. He sighed and turned away, ignoring their curses.

"Thank you for refining my designs," Titus said to the darkspawn magister.

"You are welcome. When this succeeds, you will make an adequate apprentice." Daveth hid a grin as Titus' face reddened at being treated like a kid by the monster. He supposed that to the chap who broke into the Golden City, the Magister would be a two-bit carnival magician.

Pins and needles developed in his hands and feet as the spell around him loosened a fraction due to Titus being pissed. The thief took a slow look around, trying to hide that he could move a bit now, and realised that he was within kicking distance of the bowl collecting Maric's blood… But if anything went wrong, he'd be at the heart of it.

_Fuck me, why can't the fate of the world depend on someone like Idiot or Hawke,_ he groused inwardly. _Nope, it's good ol' Daveth who's gotta save the day._

He took a deep breath and stretched tightly within his invisible bonds like they were rope before dislocating a shoulder, a talent he'd developed to get out of binds like this. He slid down, ignoring the pop and pain of his limbs, and managed to kick the bronze bowl off its pedestal just as Titus and Corypheus realised what was going on.

"What have you done?" screamed the Magister as blood hit the floor… and everything exploded into bright white that swiftly turned into the swirling green-black of the Fade.


	6. Bethany

Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Making Bethany and Alistair more badass.

…

**Bethany**

The Fade, 9:29

_Trust Daveth to complicate things._

Bethany Hawke breathed in the thin air of the Fade and looked around at the wavering landscape. Daveth kicking the bowl of Maric's blood had thrown everyone into the chaotic realm and of them all, Bethany seemed to be the only one not caught in a dream. Instead she stood on a barren plain surrounded by banners bearing the Amell crest… and her father Malcolm sitting straight-backed on a throne carved with griffins.

"Hello Sunflower," the iron-haired, worn-faced man in Warden-Mage robes, blue leather studded with silverite, greeted sadly. "I always knew that one of you would come looking for me, but I expected it to be Jaen."

Bethany listened hard to catch the undertone of a demon's voice but found none. "She's here. But Corypheus is planning to possess her."

Malcolm Hawke nodded grimly. "I am unsurprised. He can try as he wants, but one small mercy is that he can only possess something tainted. The Wardens managed to work _that_ ward well."

"Are you… dead?" she asked hesitantly. She didn't want him to be, but…

"Yes, Sunflower. I used my blood to bind my spirit here in an attempt to keep Aurelius Titus at bay." Malcolm laughed harshly. "But he's got himself two Theirins now and their blood can break _any_ binding."

Bethany drew herself up and felt the fine Antivan robes the Crows had given her vanish to be replaced by her familiar rough linen and chainmail. "He's welcome to try!" she said fiercely. "But he's in for a surprise if he thinks Alistair can be broken."

"You seem very sure of this, Sunflower." Malcolm leaned forward, steepling his hands as he'd been wont to do in life. "Why?"

"He's a templar."

Malcolm's eyes widened and he suddenly grinned. "I almost pity Titus. You need to rescue everyone from the Fade, Sunflower, including this Alistair. If he's as well trained as the other templars I knew, he'll know what to do when Aurelius Titus puts him in the copper cage."

"I don't understand-"

"You won't have to." Malcolm rose from his throne and stepped down, embracing his daughter fiercely. "Jaen might be the stronger magically, Sunflower, but you are the wiser. She'll always _want_… You are content with what you have."

"Jaen might surprise you. She's got a lover named Isabela. She's a pirate captain." Bethany hugged her father. "And Carver's a Grey Warden. It seems to suit him. Mother's back in Kirkwall with her family."

Malcolm sighed, burying his face in Bethany's hair. "I'm not surprised the Wardens snapped up one of my children. Duncan approached me shortly after Maric disappeared and asked me to aid in the search; I agreed because I wanted us to move to Rivain because the Blight was coming. I was made a Warden, tracked Maric to the Antivan Crows, and then wound up being taken by Titus' people. I killed myself and used the power released to seal the Fade as much as I could."

"We're Dreamers, according to the Tevinters," Bethany told him.

"That would be the Amell blood, darling. You and Jaen and even Carver are exceptional people…" Malcolm sighed again and released her. "I can use what remains of my power to propel you into Jaen's dream. After that, I will… go wherever someone like me goes… and you will be on your own."

Bethany inhaled sharply and then nodded. "I can do this," she told him. In the Fade, her will was reality. She would will it so… and it would be so.

"I love you, Sunflower. Go to Rivain. You'll be free there and my mother's people are there." Malcolm smiled at her. "Tell your mother, Jaen and Carver I love them."

"I will, Father. I love you too." Bethany closed her eyes against that familiar beloved face as she felt the Fade warp.

…

"Ooooh, threesome!"

"'Bela!" Bethany yelled. Somehow she knew that these two would dream together. She also should have suspected the dream would be… sensual. Since meeting Isabela, Jaen had shaken off what few inhibitions she'd possessed.

"Well, if you're not here for a threesome, what are you here for?" Isabela, clad only in her golden jewellery, demanded crossly. The room they were in was somehow Antivan and Rivaini and Orlesian all in one, dominated by a massive bed surrounded by a variety of… things. Bethany didn't know what everything was, but she bet Isabela did, and that the pirate would be only too happy to explain – and demonstrate - their use.

"To get you out of the Fade and stop that crazy magister and his darkspawn friend!" Bethany retorted, trying to keep calm.

"Are you talking about that silly nightmare you had-" Jaen began.

"Titus killed Pa, Jaen! Corypheus made him become a blood mage. If they win, Corypheus will possess Carver because he's a Warden!"

Something flickered in Jaen's eyes before she rolled them. "Maker, you are so melodramatic."

Bethany used a very rude word as Isabela and Jaen snuggled back together, then thought back to her days in Lothering and what Elder Miriam had done to Carver and Peaches when she'd got them behind Old Man Barlon's barn. Imagining a pail of icy water, she threw it over the two, much to their vocal displeasure.

"Titus. Darkspawn. We're all going to die if you don't wake up." Bethany spoke slowly, like she was talking to Carver when he was stubborn, and both women glared at her. "Have fun on your own time. We need to save the world."

Isabela groaned and hauled herself out of the sodden bed. "Fine, fine, spoilsport. But just you wait until you're canoodling with Nate and I'll throw a bucket of water on you!"

"If we're alive for you to do it, Isabela, I'll be very happy." Bethany took a deep breath and used the ties between her and said archer to find him.

…

She found herself in a dank dark cell with Nate, dressed in worn black leathers, tormenting an older grey-haired man who looked a lot like him. Bethany knew that Nate's father had been horrible to him, but she'd never expected _this_ to be his most subconscious desire.

"Nate?" she asked uncertainly… and the archer cursed.

"Beth! Shit! Why are you-?"

"We're trapped in the Fade," she explained gently. "We need to get out and save Alistair and King Maric."

"You can't even do that right!" sneered the Rendon-demon.

Bethany didn't even bother trying to convince Nate; she set fire to the demon… which turned out to be awkward as it was a rage demon.

Thankfully, she was as good at making ice as she was at calling fire. Nate swore and summoned a bow from nowhere, skewering the shades that came running in to help the demon. It wasn't much of a battle, though Bethany despaired at using precious mana.

"It felt good to subject that bastard to everything I've wanted to do for years," Nate rasped, sounding ashamed. "I… only wish you hadn't seen it."

"Was he really that bad as a father?" Beth asked, wanting to comfort him but knowing he'd need to work through this old pain himself.

"He was a very loving father. Until I puked at the execution of a woman who'd killed her baby when I was nine… and yeah. I was sent to Mother's relatives in Starkhaven and then turned over to the Hounds at sixteen." Nate's handsome, hook-nosed face was bleak. "Howes aren't nice people. We're Ferelden's sgian-dubh, the knife in the boot. I needed to be hard…"

"'Bela and Daveth are sneaky but they're not cruel, Nate," Bethany finally responded. "I'm sure as a Hound you've had to do horrible things, which really isn't fair to you. If I ever meet your boss, I'll give him a piece of my mind!"

Nate twitched a smile. "I'd pay to see that," he chuckled. "But… I'm not a nice person, Beth. Honestly, I'm not even a good one. I guess you've seen the worst of me now."

Bethany smiled sadly at him. "I have demons speaking to me every night, Nate. Compared to them, you're a saint." Her smile grew a little warmer and happier. "And I imagine you shooting them and the demons run away."

"I'm so scary that demons flee from me?" Nate looked decidedly pleased at that. "What are you saying?"

"That you may have to be a sneaky bastard for Ferelden, but you don't have to be an evil one," Bethany responded firmly. "Plenty of those exist in the world. Don't add to their number."

Nate nodded slowly. "I'll… try. But I swear, if I ever meet my father-"

"He'll be running from a fireball, I promise," she told him warmly. "I think my father would have liked you, Nate."

"Malcolm Hawke, one of the badasses of Thedas, would have liked me, eh?" Nate chuckled, some of the grimness fading from his expression. "We've got a mission to complete. But when it is over…"

"We'll face whatever comes together, I promise," Bethany found herself promising just before letting herself fall into another dream.

…

Daveth's dream was eerily similar to Nate's, indicating that the thief and the archer had shared daddy problems. Bethany had to scorch the half-Chasind's tail to get him out of killing his Da again and again.

Zevran's dream was… heartbreaking. He was undergoing what the Crows called training and Bethany called torture. She managed to remind him that he was a Master now, not an apprentice, and the elf freed himself.

Finally she came to Alistair's dream. Or rather nightmare. He was dressed in templar armour, standing guard in an ornate throne room while a blond man who looked like King Cailan (if the coins were accurate) was having the time of his life. Pretty girls were feeding the King bits of cheese (what _was_ it about Alistair's obsession with cheese?) and massaging his feet while Queen Anora, dressed in a fine purple robe, was glaring at Alistair and Cailan in turn… and Teyrn Loghain was standing behind Alistair with a headsman's axe.

"Hello Bethany," the templar said sadly. "Titus catch you?"

"Actually, no," she told him. "My father stopped him and I'm here to free you."

He sighed. "Good luck with that. Titus has bound my father and I here."

"Only if you want to be," Bethany replied fiercely. "Titus has bound you in copper. My father said as a templar you'd know what that means."

The bastard's eyes narrowed, gleaming gold and hard, before he took a deep breath. "I've been drugged and kept in the Fade since he took me," he said conversationally. "So I didn't know that. Beth?"

"Yes?"

"You might want to leave the Fade now. I don't want to hurt you."

She dove for the glowing portal in the corner just as the demon-court noticed her presence. Brilliant blue-white light surrounded her as an unseen force shook her like a dog and threw her from the Fade.

…

Someone held her by the chin and tilted her face upwards as her eyes blearily opened.

"You should have left your friends in the Fade," Titus Aurelius said gently. "It would have been less painful for what I am going to do here."

"Let me guess, here's the part where you dramatically monologue," Jaen observed sarcastically from the other side of the circle.

Titus smiled thinly. "You'd make an excellent apprentice, Hawke. Regrettably, I need all of that raw Dreamer power of you and your sister to achieve my goal."

"Our goal," Corypheus corrected. The darkspawn floated over to them, expression… regretful? Eager? She couldn't quite read his twisted face. "I hear the song of the Old Gods, the cry of Urthemiel, and it is wrong. Therefore we must bring back Dumat, the first of all, with clear mind and heart even if his body is… tainted."

"Last time you screwed with the Old Gods, you broke Heaven and became a darkspawn," Bethany reminded him. "Think that may have been a bad idea?"

"Dumat lied to us! He told us power waited in the Black City – and when we opened it, it was twisted and black!" Corypheus sighed, losing his outraged expression. "Aurelius Titus will receive the power he craves; I will be free of this wretched body; and all of you will receive a memorial for your sacrifice."

Alistair, bound within the copper cage, grunted with effort as he forced himself into a kneeling position. "How nice," he observed dryly.

Titus and Corypheus, both armed with obsidian blades, took position around the bastard prince. "You will do more with your death than you ever did with your life," the former said with sickening kindness as he and the darkspawn touched the cage. "Any last words, your Highness?"

Alistair grinned evilly. "Certainly. There's something you two need to know about me."

"What's that?"

"I'm a templar, you worthless sacks of shit." Then the blue-white of a holy smite coruscated around his body, travelling through the copper cage to strike both monsters simultaneously. Something screeched and darkness fell… and Bethany knew no more.


	7. Alistair

Note: Final chapter. Thanks for reading and reviewing! My head-canon is that Fiona and Alistair share the same eye-colour. ;)

…

**Alistair**

Seheron, 9:29

The copper cage blew apart, pieces of metal scattering everywhere as the channelled smite took out every mage – including Jaen and Bethany – within a twenty-foot radius. He almost wished that bastard Bryant could see him now.

The wave of blue-white energy also cancelled the paralysis spells holding everyone in place – including Maric, who fell from the ceiling and landed directly on Aurelius Titus with a sickening thud. His roguish friends gathered improvised weapons to use as clubs or shivs as Corypheus rose from the debris like a nightmare made flesh.

_"What are you?"_ the Magister-turned-darkspawn exclaimed in astonishment. "No mortal man has the power to cancel magic like that!"

"The Chantry raised warriors like me to stop bastards like you," Alistair retorted, grabbing a foot-long spike of copper and channelling some more of his holy energy into it. "My name is Alistair FitzMaric Theirin, son of Fiona the elven Warden-Mage. Do you have any last words, darkspawn?"

"I will see you flayed alive with the force of my will," Corypheus vowed. "I will shred your mind into little pieces-"

"What is it about third-rate villains they need to monologue?" Zevran asked as he drove an improvised copper shiv into the darkspawn's back about the area of his kidneys. Corypheus howled in pain, black tears running down his twisted face.

"It's because they lack style, sweetheart," Isabela quipped as she threw a metal shard into the eye of an approaching acolyte.

"So let's teach them what style is," Nate said with a grim smile, fading into the smoke and dust surrounding them, screams left in his wake.

Alistair had said his piece, so he closed in with the darkspawn magister, knowing that he was the major threat here. Maker willing Titus was dead… but the magister who broke Heaven open needed to die first.

Corypheus recovered quicker than they thought and summoned spells of darkness and despair to weaken them; Alistair managed to counter most of them, but felt his limbs go cold, a sure sign he was burning out his own life force. He didn't care – stopping this monster was a good way to die. Maybe even news would reach Ferelden and the Guerrins would know he'd died as a hero.

Somehow poetically it was Jaen, who'd gathered her wits enough to start casting spells, who cast the Sleep spell on a weakened Corypheus and knocked him out long enough for Alistair to shove the metal spike – and a final smite – through the darkspawn's gut. Zevran, having acquired a pair of Tevinter saw swords, placed one on either side of the monster's neck and decapitated it with a clean strike.

Bethany set fire to the darkspawn's corpse as it collapsed, making sure Corypheus was permanently dead, but Alistair had already turned his attention to Aurelius Titus, who was trying to rise groggily under the weight of Maric.

"No!" The cry was hard and fierce, a warrior's shout, as the Saviour of Ferelden found the strength to punch Titus in the face. The golden light around his emaciated form indicated that Jaen was doing some heavy-duty healing.

"You won't have my son!" Maric screamed, grabbing the stunned magister's head and smashing it into the stone floor until it was pulp. "Not my boy!"

The import of the King's words hit Alistair so hard he staggered, only to be supported by Nate and Zevran appearing by his side. "Easy," the archer rasped. "Your father's got everything in hand."

"My father loves me," he breathed. "He…"

Zevran hugged him. "It is well, _mi amico_. We are done here."

…

The elf was slightly inaccurate. There were crazed acolytes to fight through, but eventually they reached the outside of the ancient fortress… to be greeted by Carver Hawke and a squad of battle-hardened Grey Wardens.

"He's dead," Alistair reported tersely as Zevran, stronger than his lithe frame implied, helped him out. Nate was supporting Maric, Jaen and Isabela each other, while Bethany and Daveth were strong enough to move under their own power.

"Who's dead?" demanded a slight elven woman with grey-streaked dark hair and golden eyes, her accent lightly Orlesian.

"Corypheus, Aurelius Titus, a lot of nameless people…" Zevran shrugged. "I only need to find Claudio Valisti to finish my part of the matter."

Maric looked up weakly. Only a few strands of gold remained in his lank grey hair and the musculature was gone from his rangy limbs. It would be a hell of a time getting him back to Ferelden, and Alistair instinctively knew that this man could not take up the mantle of King. "Fiona…?"

"Maric!" The elf woman cried out. "You… you're…"

Alistair nearly collapsed as he realised that she was his mother. The mother who didn't want to raise him. He took a shuddering breath and swallowed a sob. He was peripheral to whatever lay between Fiona and Maric.

"Alive. Because of our boy." Maric smiled feebly.

"Emm'len?" Fiona gasped, looking about wildly.

"'My child'," Zevran translated helpfully.

It was all Alistair could do to keep the resentment and anger from his voice as he said, "Andaran atish'an, mamae."

Fiona's jaw dropped like she'd been punched in the back of the head. Then she turned to Maric in a fury. "He wasn't supposed to know! He was supposed to believe he was a human orphan, Maric! Why did you tell him?"

"Actually, it was Riordan who told him," Carver Hawke supplied helpfully.

"He also wasn't to know he was royal blood!" Fiona continued, working herself into a fine rage. "He was to have a normal happy life!"

"Eamon told him," Maric said mournfully. "And… Ferelden will need him, I think."

"Tale of your life, ain't it Alistair? Folks talkin' about ya like ya ain't there." Of all people, it was _Daveth_ who defended Alistair.

Fiona and Maric had the grace to look ashamed as Alistair shook off Zev's support, forcing himself to stand on his own strength. "I… don't hate you," he finally said. "It's… good to know who I am."

"And who is that?" Hawke challenged.

"Alistair Emm'len – assuming that's my elven name – FitzMaric Theirin," he replied, feeling the truth of it settle into place like a key into a lock. "Royal bastard, templar and-"

"General pain in the arse," Daveth added.

"Just when I was about to like you, pickpocket," the templar retorted.

Maric drew himself up. "You're not illegitimate, Alistair. I had documents drawn up and given to Loghain in case something happened to Cailan."

"You mean if he turned out ta be-" Daveth's statement was cut short by Bethany elbowing him in the ribs, making the thief wince. Maric didn't need Cailan's faults as King flung into his face.

"…Prince of Ferelden," Alistair finished, sighing heavily. "Maker's breath, there's going to be a shitstorm when we get home."

"I'm… not going back." Maric's statement drew cries of shock from the Fereldans present. "Ferelden had my blood and heart for thirty years. I… had to leave as a promise to Flemeth. But I never planned to come back."

"He and I were going to retire to one of the Warden Keeps and live out our lives in peace," Fiona continued, looking at the rail-thin King with love in her eyes. "I hope it is still his intention."

"Of course," Maric agreed lovingly.

"Teagan is going to _love_ that," Nate observed sardonically.

"I honestly don't give a shit what Teagan thinks," Maric retorted bluntly. "I'm sure he and Cailan and Anora can manage without me."

"Let him go." It was a prince's command and Alistair surprised himself by speaking so. "We're not going to change his mind… and he's right. Let Maric the Saviour die. Maybe we can all find peace once the legend is laid to rest."

"That was cruelly said," Fiona protested.

"What do I tell Cailan?" Alistair retorted. "That his father left him without saying goodbye?"

"Let Cailan think I'm still dead. It'll be easier for him than to know he was abandoned again." Maric sighed. "How… is he? As King?"

"He and Anora manage just fine without you," Nate replied harshly.

"Let him go," Alistair repeated, understanding the truth of his statement. He needed to let this go, to find peace. His parents loved him in their own way and it was enough to know. "Let them go, Nate."

"Fine," Nate rasped. "We need to return home. Ferelden will need us now there's a Blight."

"Us?" Isabela demanded. "My job here is done – once I'm done looting the place."

Alistair smiled at his oldest friend as she looked torn between him and her lover. "Go to Rivain, Antiva, wherever you want, Jaen," he told her affectionately. "We'll be fine."

"I know," Hawke responded with a smile. "Go home, Chantry boy. I want to hear about you shaking up that damned Court and kicking sense into every bastard noble there."

"And I want to hear about the saucy pirate and her apostate lover," he countered, grinning.

"Only if they're dirty stories, mind you," Zevran added cheekily, dodging the fake blow Jaen threw at him. "I will be coming with you, Alistair. You will need someone competent to protect you."

Nate's grey eyes narrowed at the assassin. "Are you implying I'm incompetent?"

"Of course I am. You are not a Crow."

"Bethany, I'll speak to Bann Teagan about getting some strings pulled," Alistair continued, talking to the apostate in love with the archer. "I'm going to need a mage I can trust."

"It would be good to go back home. Kirkwall… never quite felt like it." Bethany sighed, hand twining around Nate's spare one.

"Daveth?"

"Might as well head back. There's somethin' I gotta do." The thief scrubbed the back of his neck. "Just get that Teagan bloke ta get them hangin' offences off me back, will ya?"

"I'll do my best," Alistair promised with a grin. Since meeting the Witch of the Wilds, the skin-walker had become dark and brooding. But there was nothing he could do about it, even if the thief wasn't entirely bad.

"Great." Daveth looked to Isabela. "Reckon ya can run us back ta Kirkwall? We can catch a boat home from there."

Isabela nodded with a smile. "No problem."

Alistair turned to his parents as Carver Hawke went over to have a little chat with Nate about his twin sister. "Goodbye, Mother… Father," he said awkwardly. He knew that this would be the only time he'd ever see them.

"Goodbye… my son," Maric said, blinking rapidly. "I… guess you know you're as good as good as anyone else."

"Yeah, I do."

"Goodbye, Emm'len," Fiona told him tearfully. "You are a son to be proud of, I think."

"Ma serannas," he replied softly. "Dareth shiral."

Then he turned his back on his parents and the Wardens, his friends at his side and the future ahead of him. He was half-elven; he was a templar; he was a Prince of Ferelden.

But above all other things, he was Alistair. He was himself.


End file.
